All Lives, All Hearts
by DixieH
Summary: Mycroft's words after Sherlock identifies Irene Adler's body in the morgue come back to him. Mycroft is the centerpiece of activity following Sherlock's fall in this three part drabble, featuring Molly Hooper, John Watson and Sherlock.


**_All Lives, All Hearts_**

_Mycroft's words after Sherlock identifies Irene Adler's body in the morgue come back to him. Mycroft is the centerpiece of activity following Sherlock's fall in this three part drabble. - Dix.  
_

**All lives end:**

Mycroft insisted on seeing the body in person, not through a pane of glass, or CCTV. The attendant shrugged and said "Follow me."

The morgue is cold. They stand side by side for a moment. The shape on the gurney in front of them is draped with a white sheet. The attendant glances at Mycroft Holmes wondering how he will react. Mycroft gives nothing away. His face is serene and his shoulders relaxed. Carefully, the attendant uncovers the corpse resting under the sheet. He is settling the cloth carefully under the corpse's chin, when Mycroft snatches it from him. Mycroft pulls the sheet off the body letting it pool on the floor. The attendant is startled and takes a step back. He is relieved to find the Senior Pathologist moving in to take his place. She dismisses him with a nod and a sympathetic half smile.

"Dr. Hooper," Mycroft says without looking at her. "Have you identified this man?" He is staring into the face of the man he knew as Moriarity and the world has come to know as Rich Brook.

"No," She says quietly and shakes her head. "No, no not yet. There was nothing on the body." She giggles then but stifles it saying "Well except his clothes of course."

Mycroft ignores her. "Once the post-mortem is complete, you will search the databases?"

She fidgets with a button on her lab coat. "Of course. If we don't find a local ID, we'll expand the search. His DNA may be on file in some other jurisdiction or perhaps next of kin will contact us. That happens sometimes."

"I think Miss Hooper you will find that this man has no kin; at least none that will own him." Mycroft turns on his heel and strides towards the door. He pauses and turns back; she has picked up the sheet and is pushing it into a laundry bin. "Thank you," he says. "Thank you for helping my brother."

When she turns away from her work to acknowledge him, all she sees is the closing door.

**All hearts are broken:**

Anthea stands in an alcove around the corner from the Acute Admissions Unit. From this vantage point she keeps an eye on the doors and also on Dr. John Watson, who she found sitting in the waiting area nearly 40 minutes ago.

She texted Mycroft Holmes when she located him. She appears to be focused on the phone in her hand, but in fact is diligently doing her job. Every few minutes, Mycroft receives another time stamped photo of the statue like doctor.

When Mycroft walks by her, her phone pings with a text. It is a single word "car". She turns out of the niche and goes the opposite way down the hall and out a secondary exit to the car park.

Mycroft crosses the waiting area with long strides. John Watson is bent nearly double; his head in his hands, elbows jammed against his legs. The sight of him brings Mycroft to a sudden stop. He'd been so very busy attending to other details that he'd given no thought to the condition of the doctor. When Watson doesn't acknowledge his presence, he touches him on the shoulder.

"I'll give you a lift home." He says with real compassion.

John lifts his head and looks at Mycroft. His eyes are red rimmed but his expression is steel.

"Fuck off."

"Ah, yes. Anger. Which stage of grief is that Doctor?"

"Go away."

"A hotel then," Mycroft offers. "Or I have a flat you could use." Mycroft is running out of options.

"Sherlock is dead, Mycroft. I'm not his minder anymore. So **you** - can - leave - me - alone ."

"You are mistaken." Mycroft said lowering his voice. This wasn't a battle he could afford to lose. "What happened to my brother will be on the front page of every newspaper in the kingdom by morning."

That brought Watson to his feet. "You want to protect him now that he's dead?" John's voice was razor sharp, his body stiff and his fists clenched. "When you wouldn't protect him while he was alive!" Heads turn at the outburst.

"Let's sit down." Mycroft says softly, and waves him back into his chair. "It's his legacy I'm concerned about and by extension your future, Doctor." Watson seemed to be ignoring him, so Mycroft continued. "It is essential that we control what is reported by the media. They will crave details of Sherlock's communications, your life together, and his cases, everything they can scrape together." If they get this story wrong too; this may inflame the constabulary's desire to see you punished for Sherlock's - " Here Mycroft pauses looking for just the right word. "Sherlock's actions."

"He didn't lie, Mycroft. He didn't hire Rich Brook or Moriarity or whatever he's calling himself today." As soon as he said it John heard Sherlock's voice in his ear; "Tell everyone I'm a fraud."

"Well that story is certainly not what the press will consider to be in the best interest of selling papers. So I think it would be advantageous if they didn't locate you and perhaps it would be wise for you to stay out of the clutches of the constabulary as well for the time being."

For Mycroft, the most important thing is to debrief Watson. He needs to discover what he saw and what he thought and to discern what he might do next. Mycroft let his guard down once when it came to his dear brother but it wouldn't' happen again. The flow of information, the dissemination of Sherlock's verbal suicide note to his blogger would be handled by professionals. There would be statements to the media, press releases and complete control of information. It would protect Sherlock's legacy and it would protect Watson from the hounding of the media. But first Mycroft had to secure the source.

"Even now, the vultures are circling. I found you. The press will be on my heels. You don't want that do you? You don't want a repeat of what happened with Ms. Reilly?"

"You bastard," Watson leaned in just a little. "That was your fault."

Mycroft's agreement was a nearly imperceptible nod. "Be that as it may John, even now the press is gathering in the street outside of Two Hundred Twenty One B Baker Street."

"Oh God!" Watson said. He was on his feet again. "Mrs. Hudson!"

"Sit down, John." Mycroft waved his hand. "She has been relocated." Watson met his gaze. He was clearly grateful. Mycroft pushed on. "It's time to give a thought for yourself. If the press find you; it will be worse than before."

Watson exhaled loudly and deflated just a little.

"My car's outside." Mycroft said.

**Caring is not an advantage:**

Mycroft watched Sherlock from the car. His dark coat billowed around him as he retraced his path through the cemetery. The black sedan was idling by the curb. Sherlock opened the back door and got in beside Mycroft. When Sherlock was settled, Mycroft pressed the button on the intercom and instructed the driver to proceed.

"Did you see him?" Mycroft asked as the car pulled into traffic. Sherlock nodded but continued to observe the passing scenery. "Did he see you?"

"No."

"Well that is some relief. It is very difficult to continue this charade the more people who know you're alive."

"Obviously."

"I have your documents." Mycroft reached into the briefcase on his lap and drew out a small envelope. He handed it to Sherlock.

Sherlock broke the seal and tipped the contents into his lap. He scrutinized them carefully, not trusting their accuracy.

"They are all in order," Mycroft said. "Passport, driver's license, bank card, cellular telephone, there's even a library card. The address is valid and will be available for your use. Here is the key." Mycroft held out a single key on a nondescript fob. Sherlock slid it into his pocket.

When the car pulled to the curb a few minutes later, Sherlock had pocketed the new documents and the phone. He turned to Mycroft one last time.

"You'll keep him under surveillance." It wasn't a question.

"Watson, Lestrade and Mrs. Hudson; yes we agreed."

Sherlock nodded.

"And you'll intervene if he requires protection."

Mycroft pursed his lips. "Sherlock, I only have so much influence."

Sherlock's expression hardened. "I wasn't suggesting that you send in the troops, Mycroft. I think under the circumstances, it would be fitting if you were his human shield as he has been mine these past months. It's the least you could do."

When Mycroft didn't answer, Sherlock opened the door, slid out and slammed the door. Mycroft watched him through the car's window until he was lost in the crowd.


End file.
